It's amazing the ebb and flow of my personal reality. Everything surges then sways, lulls then ignites. Nothing is ever constant for me. I wouldn't even know how to exist that way. I wonder what it's like; to live somewhat serenely. No major ups, no major downs. On a steel thick lake instead of this capricious ocean.
I wonder if I need instability. I have an instinctual greed for more tied roughly to the perpetual blossom of boredom. The constant demand to change / create / experience something new, may as much be lifeblood to me as it is torture. As exquisitely frustrating as it is bewitchingly full of pleasure.
I wonder if comfortable, content, complacent... are words that could ever be attached to my name. And if they could, would I be happy?
Or does my quixotic nature require a certain level of discontent, a certain amount of emotional upheaval in order to inspire and unite the chaotic worlds within myself to settle almost magically into something that gives me satisfaction like nothing else I've ever felt.
Deep. Pure. Satisfaction.
As fleeting as it is.
It is a spark flashing bright on a dark night, and eyes grow wide and radiant with wonder at the sight, before it - inevitably - cools and fades into the darkness.
I feel sometimes that I am that spark... always lusting to burn. Only ever briefly lit.